


Storm Music

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A storm blows through Jim Ellison's world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Music

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been motivated much lately in the TS direction, but I suddenly felt like playing with them a bit, and it keeps raining here....

## Storm Music

by JC

Author's webpage: [http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci ](http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci)

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say.

* * *

Storm Music by J.C. 

Jim listened to the grumbling of thunder as he lay staring unseeingly through the skylight above his bed. He extended his hearing, wondering if he could track the coming storm by trying to determine from how far away the sounds started. A memory from his childhood flickered briefly in his mind...calming his little brother down by counting the silence between thunderclaps, reassuring him that a bad storm was finally moving on. That was back when he had almost instinctive control over his senses, marveling at his ability, even as he wondered what it made him--sometimes feeling like Superman, though he could still hear echoes of the word 'freak' said in his father's harsh voice. These days, he had that sort of control again, though much more refined, thanks to one Blair Sandburg. 

With very little effort, Jim could smell whiffs of the scent that his roommate had left behind earlier. That was one of the reasons that he was lying on his bed at only 9:35 p.m. Hiding out, he thought sullenly. Withdrawing to the loft to get away from the traces in the air, though he hadn't let himself dial down his sense of smell or even spray some air freshener to mask it. It was a sign that Jim recognized. The only time Sandburg bothered with what could be called a 'fragrance' was for certain occasions like...first dates. A sudden flash of lightning made him blink, and he closed his eyes against it, only to have an even brighter image develop behind his lids...Blair leaving earlier that night. It had only been the evening before that Blair had broached the subject at dinner. 

"Just wanted to let you know, Jim, that I'm seeing someone new." 

The concept of Sandburg with somebody new in his life wasn't exactly novel, and Jim, long ago resigned to that phenomenon, had only shrugged at Blair's statement. 

"Not that I thought you'd have a problem with it, but I didn't want it to be a surprise or anything, or like I was trying to hide something from you. I mean, I haven't gone out with a guy in... _years_." 

Blair had paused and looked at Jim then, and Jim could fill in what hadn't been said...that 'in years' meant 'in the years since I've known you'. Belatedly, the rest of Blair's statement had caught up to him, the part where Blair was going out with a _guy_. 

"I met Trent at that seminar last month," Blair was saying. "We had some mutual friends and we've gotten together with them a few times and, well, things just seemed to be going in a certain direction." 

Jim didn't linger on 'a certain direction'; positive that it would take him down paths that he really didn't want to travel. 

"Well," Blair said, wrapping up his little bombshell with a nice, neat bow, "our first real date is tomorrow night, and I wanted to get that out in the open. I wasn't really worried, but I figured the idea of it might be a bit unexpected since you had no reason to believe that I might have a romantic interest in...um...men. Not that you'd ever _see_...I mean, since I don't usually...you know...here at the loft..." 

But, Jim flashed back to coming home one night, and finding Blair and a young woman...Chris, he was sure her name had been...obviously in the middle of...'you know'. And it was almost physically painful to imagine walking in and interrupting Blair and _Trent_ on the couch...with things untucked and undone. 

"So, I just wanted to let you know," Blair had repeated with finality. 

And, without going into any of the various ways that it made him crazy, Jim could only nod and say, "Fine, Sandburg," trying not to concentrate on the warm, tingly sensation he felt when Blair rose from the table and clapped him on the shoulder. Instead, he had sat there thinking that he had just learned some things about his best friend that he had always wanted to know, but in his daydreams the circumstances had always been very different. 

"Jim..." Blair was watching him from the couch. "Tell me the truth, man, does it bother you?" 

Good friend, but definite coward, Jim answered, "No, Chief, I don't have a problem with it." 

Blair had nodded, turning his attention back to his book, and they had spent the evening in the same way as hundreds of evenings before, but there was a tension in the air that had become all too familiar in recent times. Something brittle that kept them from getting too close, even while it prevented them moving too far apart. Something that Jim thought they had finally gotten past. 

Jim's plan had been to make himself scarce, but he had still managed to make it home before Blair had gone, stopping his truck down the street when he'd seen Blair exiting the building. He hadn't wanted to go through the ritual of introductions, the smiles and handshakes, or see how Blair would look for a first date with some guy--some guy that wasn't him. Because, of course, therein was the crux of his problem, Jim knew. That he could easily picture Blair with a man, but the man in the picture had always been him. In fact, it didn't even take much doing for him to bend their whole relationship. It was possible to take them at almost any point in their four years together and see it as part of some dating cycle--highs and lows, break-ups and reconciliations--everything except the sex. (And, Jim had been able to imagine that easily enough in dark moments alone with one hand shoved inside his boxers.) He and Blair had gotten closer than Jim ever had with any woman in his life...and that included the one that had worn his wedding ring for a time. And, it had proved longer lasting... _much_ longer, providing both more drama _and_ more fun times. 

So, if Blair were suddenly switching sides, why couldn't it have been to be with him? It seemed fairly reasonable to Jim, why _wouldn't_ it be him? Instead of some guy named Trent who had turned out not to be the studious-looking, academic type that Jim had foolishly envisioned, with glasses and a pocket protector, dressed neatly in clothes appropriate for museum openings and educational lectures. He had been totally unprepared for the longhaired blond that had picked Blair up, tall and muscular, dressed all in black and driving a motorcycle. And Jim was pretty sure that they weren't headed to some exhibit, with coffee afterwards, but rather something wild and noisy, probably followed by something in private that would be wilder and noisier, where, no doubt, they would get sweaty and...naked. Moodily, he had sat in his truck and watched until they had ridden off in the opposite direction. 

Upstairs, he had stood in the kitchen, gulping down a beer, dismissing the idea of food, and feeling stupid when he'd caught himself lingering in the doorway to Blair's room...sniffing the air. He forced himself to go take a shower, and didn't waste time pretending that he was interested in whatever might be playing on television, retreating instead to the solitude of his bedroom, lying on top of his blankets in his boxers, staring through the glass overhead, trying not to think, but, of course, doing just that. 

Thinking, listening and...waiting...waiting for the low rumble of a motorcycle to come roaring in to compete with the thundering skies. He was dreading that sound that would signal Blair's return, undoubtedly happier and more satisfied than when he had left, his deep, spicy scent diffused and mixed with something new and unknown to Jim. Not that he was actually _expecting_ Blair home. Blair wasn't exactly conservative and Trent looked like the type that was fully capable of turning a first date into a...first _time_. 

So, Jim was more than a little surprised when he _did_ hear the vibrating growl as the motorcycle pulled up downstairs. He strained harder, trying to filter past the whispers and shouts inside the building, in time to hear Blair say, "...would invite you up, but..." and "...great time, man..." and "...yeah, I'd love to..." though he couldn't quite make out any of Trent's words. A check of his clock showed that it was not quite midnight, and he sat up wondering what he should do, not wanting it to seem that he was either waiting up, or had gone to bed early as if something were wrong. Making a quick decision, he grabbed some sweatpants to put on, and went downstairs to present himself as someone just about to lock up, get a glass of water, and go to bed. 

He could still hear Blair talking, "...call me..." and "...next time..." and "...kiss me or what..." Just as he hit the bottom step, the skies opened up, rain came pouring down, and a shouted curse from Blair sounded loud and clear in his ear. Frowning, he reined his hearing in, and headed towards the refrigerator. Unwanted glass of water in hand, he was on his way back to the stairs when the door opened, and there was Blair, soaking wet and not alone. Despite his best efforts, Blair's first date with Trent had just gotten up close and personal. 

"Jim, hey, it's raining," Blair said unnecessarily. Both he and Trent were dripping water on the floor by the door, and Jim made a point of not looking down at the growing puddles. "And Trent's on his motorcycle," Blair continued, "so, I asked him up." 

Jim nodded, trying not to stare. His ready explanation of being about to go up to bed dried up in his throat, and he found himself suddenly incredibly thirsty, though he couldn't get his hand to lift the glass so he could drink. 

"Oh yeah, uh, Jim, this is Trent Davidson. Trent, this is Jim Ellison." 

When Trent opened his mouth, Jim half-expected to hear, 'Hey dude, how's it hangin', man,' but the young blond shook his hand and said, "Nice to meet you, Detective Ellison," in a reserved voice that still somehow managed to make Jim feel old. 

"Nice to meet you too, Trent. Call me Jim." 

For a few weird seconds, they all smiled uncertainly at one another, and Jim started to feel uncomfortable standing there shirtless and barefoot. 

"I told Trent that he could crash here...on the couch or something," Blair said, his eyes bright as he looked at Jim. Whether in challenge or in question, Jim couldn't tell. 

"Well, I don't want to mess up your furniture," Trent said to Jim, his fingers pulling at the skintight black tee that was plastered to his body, "I'll just bunk in with Blair." 

"Okay, well, uh..." Blair stammered, looking in the direction of his room. 

"I was just going to bed," Jim finally said, holding up his glass of water inanely, then turned towards the stairs as they all mumbled 'goodnight'. 

Halfway up, Jim heard, "Wait, man...don't get the books all wet..." then the door closed on the rest, and Jim dialed his hearing down low, not wanting to be tempted to listen in on whatever the 'rest' might end up being. 

Lying on his bed, he could still make out the indistinct sound of the raindrops falling steadily overhead, the constant drumming matching the rhythm of the blood pumping through his body, heart thumping, temples pounding, and, to his dismay, a definite throbbing between his legs. He rolled over, painfully aware that he was hard as steel, excited, despite himself, by the thought of Blair reaching out to peel a wet tee-shirt off of a muscled torso, or reaching into damp cotton to release a hard cock...so easy to imagine Blair reaching up to thread loving fingers through short, bristled hair rather than a long, blond mane... 

With a groan, Jim clenched his hands into fists, purposely not touching himself, though his hips involuntarily thrust against the mattress a few times, causing him to grit his teeth with the effort to keep his body still. He was tempted to just jerk off and be done with it, but it seemed somewhat tacky to do it with Blair on his mind, while Blair was actually there... _and_ busy with someone else. In frustration, he dialed down his sense of touch, numbing the ache in his cock, and let the muffled beat of the storm cocoon him until he finally fell asleep. 

* * *

Dragged from sleep, Jim opened his eyes, easily adjusting to the weak, gray light that filled the room. As he became more aware, several smells registered strongly in the air--coffee, bacon, pineapple--and cutting into those aromas was the scent he knew was Blair...and something else...sharp and bitter... That last caused him to quickly turn over and sit up to find Blair standing there, his eyes wide and mouth moving, but seemingly making no sound. Fighting his own moment of numb, deaf panic, Jim belatedly remembered to adjust his hearing and then brought back his sense of touch. 

"Jim!" 

He winced from the sound of alarm in the voice, closing his eyes as he recognized the loud pounding of Blair's heart, wincing again at the stinging pain of blood rushing to his arm where he must have slept on it, cutting the circulation. Groggily, he answered, "Yeah, Sandburg, I'm up." 

"You're _up_? What the fuck is wrong? You didn't answer when I was calling you, and I've been shaking you for at least a minute. You scared the _shit_ out of me." 

"Sorry," Jim mumbled, shaking out his arm. 

"Are you okay? What's going on? At first, I thought you were in some sort of deep zone, but you were definitely snoring." 

"Must have dialed too low." 

"Dialed too low?" Blair said. " _Dialed_ too low?" he repeated louder. "In your _sleep_?" 

"No, before. You, um, had company, and I wanted to make sure that I...uh...gave you some privacy," Jim answered, not adding the part about reducing his tactile sense as well. 

"Oh. Well, uh, thanks, but I wouldn't...um...we didn't.... I mean, you didn't think that I'd have sex on the first date, and _here_ , of all places, did you? Never mind, don't answer that." Without warning, Blair reached over and hit Jim in the shoulder. "Asshole. Don't _ever_ do that again! I know that you've fine-tuned your control over the years, but, shit, in your sleep, who _knows_ what might happen. Your subconscious--" 

"Sandburg, I'm fine," Jim interrupted, hoping to stop what was surely gearing up to be a _long_ lecture. 

"You sure? Everything online and normal?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay." He narrowed his eyes, studying Jim's face. "So, your hearing didn't automatically adjust back to normal while you were sleeping?" 

"Evidently not." 

"We should probably do some tests on that." Blair gave Jim another good rap on the shoulder. "But don't _do_ that again." 

Holding his hands up, Jim said, "You know, I think I can do without the yelling and punching version of an alarm clock." 

"Hey, sorry, but I was a little freaked. When I first called up here, and you didn't answer, I thought you were just pissed at me or something, but then when I shook you--" 

"Pissed about what?" Jim asked, struggling to get his mind and body in sync. 

"Trent and everything." 

Not wanting to dwell on Trent and _anything_ , Jim opted for telling a simple truth. "I wasn't mad at you." 

"Okay." 

Blair's eyes seemed to be searching his face, so Jim tried to maintain a pleasantly neutral expression. "So...where is Trent?" 

"He went home," Blair said, finally looking away. "Well, I hope you're hungry. The Sandburg Sunday Special is ready and waiting. I even cooked bacon for you this time." 

Jim watched Blair turn to go. "Yeah, I'm starved, Chief." Clamping his mouth shut as he heard just how 'hungry' he sounded. 

Blair glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment. "Hurry up then." With that, he disappeared down the stairs. 

* * *

Over time, Sundays had become a day that Jim and Blair usually spent together whenever work didn't interfere. During various sports seasons, the time revolved around watching a game or two, but it had long since ceased being limited solely to that. One of the best parts of the day for Jim had always been the Sandburg Sunday Special brunch. Even the dreariness of the weather and the memories of the night before didn't ruin his enjoyment of Blair's omelettes and pancakes, not to mention the unexpected bacon and the fresh juice blend that tasted refreshingly of the pineapple that he had smelled earlier. But he was unnerved by the way that Blair kept watching him and their usual easy flow of conversation was still conspicuously absent. When they were finished eating, Blair got up with his empty plate, but Jim stopped him. 

"Chief, am I that bad?" 

With a puzzled frown, Blair asked, "What do you mean?" 

"I mean," Jim said, voice tight and restrained, "do you think that I'm that _bad_. I'm not mad, here. I know that I haven't always had the best reaction to things...well, okay, maybe that's putting it mildly, but..." 

Blair sighed, sitting back down. "Okay, Jim, I _was_ a little worried about how you'd feel about Trent staying here last night. But, you said everything was cool, and I believe you." 

"This is your home, too, Blair. I thought that after everything we've been through...everything we've tried to work out...that you would have understood _that_ , at least. Well, I had hoped..." 

The two men avoided eye contact and an edgy silence descended between them, filled with memories that time hadn't diminished. So much of their history that was still somewhat clouded by the shadow of an empty loft and a cold fountain...haunted by echoes of angry words and a public statement read in a choked-up voice... 

"Jim, I do think of this as my home, I really do, but I'll admit that I also still think of it as _your_ place." 

"But...I don't want it to be that way." 

Blair shrugged. "I know you don't." 

Unable to think of anything to say to that, Jim just kept silent. It had been rough, but he had thought that they were back on track. He knew that Blair was still coming to terms with the idea of letting go of his academic pursuits and working for the police department full time. Though Blair had made the decision to do what was necessary to become Jim's official partner, he had told Simon that he wanted to take some time to get himself together first. Jim had also taken time off, using his injury as the reason, but really just to be around Blair for a while, satisfy himself that Blair really was going to be okay with going through with it. He'd been back on the job for a few weeks, and in a few more weeks Blair would begin his firearms training. It was about as good as Jim thought he could get...keeping Blair as his roommate, best friend, and partner. Blair going out with Trent _had_ thrown him, though not for the reasons that Blair might think, but to know that Blair didn't feel 'at home' at the loft...that was a blow, and he blamed himself for that. 

"Jim..." 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"I'm in this, okay?" 

"Okay." 

Blair cleared the table and Jim did the dishes, the conversation evidently over, and Jim had the thought that, obviously, they weren't back on track, but were drifting to some other track entirely, and now there was a side road where Trent Davidson was driving a motorcycle... 

The ringing of the phone interrupted his musings, Blair's voice snagging his attention. 

"Oh, hey." 

From the hushed greeting and the smile in Blair's voice, Jim made a guess that it was Trent on the other end. 

"Um...I don't know. It's Sunday, and Jim and I will probably..." 

Jim moved quickly, motioning in Blair's direction. 

"Wait, hold on, okay?" 

In a low voice, Jim said, "I promised Simon that I'd help him fix...uh...something at his house." 

"Okay, no problem, maybe after we finish we could..." 

"No, I can handle it. Go...have fun." 

Blair stared at him for a brief moment, then put the phone back to his ear. "Trent? Looks like I'm free, man. Whatcha got in mind?" 

Tuning out the conversation, and whatever wild and noisy thing Trent might have on his mind, Jim made a beeline for the bathroom and the prospect of a hot shower. In the steam heat, under the relaxing massage of the spray, he tried to keep his mind clear, and succeeded until he dried off, wiping a clear spot on the fogged-up mirror, and took a hard look at himself. 

It wasn't a conscious assessment at first. He rarely dwelled on the fact that the Invasion of the Hair Snatchers was taking place on his head, but the short spikes of wet hair reflected in the mirror seemed to mock him. A stark reminder of how much his hairline had receded, and that there was no chance in hell that he'd ever have a full head of blond locks. But, years of physical training through the Army and the police force hadn't yet abandoned him. Still strong, still fit, still muscular. 'For someone my age,' he added, making a face at himself in the mirror. 

Mood darkening, he snatched open the door, startling Blair who was standing on the other side. 

"Whoa. You okay?" 

"Sorry, Chief. Didn't mean to take so long...you should've knocked." 

"I was about to," Blair gave a quick grin. "You all right, man?" 

"Yeah, just taking advantage of the heat on these old bones." 

"Your leg bothering you again?" 

"No," Jim answered, walking away. But he realized he was limping as he went up the stairs. 

When he came back down, dressed to go out, Blair was sitting on the couch reading, looking...'clean' was the word that stupidly came to Jim's mind, and he was incredibly tempted to zoom in on the scents of shampooed curls and soap-scrubbed skin. Instead, he settled for feeling satisfied that he didn't give in to the urge. At the door, he turned to say good-bye and caught Blair watching him with an odd expression on his face. Curious, he automatically looked down to make sure that his fly wasn't open, and only then did he really notice what he had picked out to wear...black tee-shirt, black jeans.... Feeling suddenly foolish, he mumbled a half-hearted 'Later, Chief', and made his escape. 

* * *

There was a slight drizzle as Jim drove towards Simon's house. Simon was also slowly on the mend, and had finally graduated to a cane, even while insisting on going into the office most days. Jim couldn't think of anyplace else to go, and he decided that he might as well swing by Simon's and lend some validity to the story that he had given Blair. And when all was said and done, an afternoon of beer and bullshit didn't sound bad at all. 

After pulling up in the drive and parking in front of the garage door, Jim rang the doorbell, grinning in surprise when Darryl answered the door. 

"Jim, what's up?" 

Their handshake turned into a quick hug. "Good to see you, Darryl." 

The teen looked around Jim, and asked, "Where's Blair?" 

"Hey, what am I? The bottom of the barrel?" 

Darryl flashed a quick grin. "No, man, it's just that Blair is--" 

'Young, hip, cool,' Jim supplied to himself. "Don't say it, kid. If you make me feel any older than I already do, we'll have to take it to the basketball court so I can show you that I haven't lost it yet." 

"You're not old, Jim...my _dad_ is old." 

"So, where is he?" 

"At the station." 

"Today?" 

"Yeah, he wanted to get ready for some meeting with the Chief of Police tomorrow, and, trust me, Dad was _not_ happy." 

"Oh, right. That review with all of the Captains." 

"You gonna stick around?" 

"No, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing." 

"That would be getting some uninterrupted phone time in before Dad gets back. Hey, tell Blair to call me. I'll be staying here for the rest of the summer." 

"Will do. Stay out of trouble." 

"See you, Jim." 

Since there was to be no beer-drinking, bullshit-talking afternoon with Simon, Jim ended up driving around in the rain doing nothing and going nowhere because he couldn't muster up the enthusiasm for anything else. He tried not to think about it too hard when a line of motorcycles caught his eye, and he found himself pulling into a dealership, looking at shiny bikes on a showroom floor. As he ran his hand along a leather seat, his mind filled with images of roaring down the street with Blair sitting behind him, so close and holding on so tight...he could almost feel the vibration as it rumbled under him, through him, Blair pressing hard against him, hard, so hard... 

Which meant that Jim Ellison with a hard-on had to beat a hasty retreat, pushing past a suddenly determined salesman, out into the pouring rain. The ache that settled into his back, as he drove, pushed away the remains of his freewheeling fantasy, and he concentrated on the real matter of handling his truck in the worsening weather. When he got back home, feeling unbelievably weary, the loft was empty, and for a long time he just sat there, listening to the storm building up outside. 

* * *

For the next several weeks, Jim assigned himself the task of giving Blair space. Blair had refused Jim's offers of help in regard to his police training, outside of asking Jim for a reasonable routine for weights that he could use regularly at the gym, and also if he could borrow Jim's spare gun to familiarize himself firsthand with the workings of a firearm. Both of which Jim had agreed to do, and though it was difficult, he stepped back from the rest. 

Most nights, he would come home late and Blair would be out or already in bed. But, a few times Blair had been sitting on the couch, the spare gun in parts as he read through a manual, usually with some wildlife program on in the background...the sounds of various predators providing a strange sort of mood music. Jim hadn't commented; Blair had promised he would ask if he needed any specific help, and Jim got the message that Blair needed to do as much as he could without interference. That he would want to do his best to claim the police world as his own. 

Blair was smart and gutsy, and Jim wasn't worried about him being capable of doing the job, but there were still moments when he wasn't convinced that Blair would be doing it willingly. Because of that, he was never sure whether he should say how happy and excited he was that Blair was going to officially become his partner...but he found himself waiting anxiously for that day, putting aside the less pleasant situation that was Blair's personal life. 

* * *

'If only it would stop raining,' Jim thought, taking on one of Blair's usual gripes, as he let himself into the loft on a dreary Friday night. The wet weather had never really bothered him before. He had lived with it so long, he rarely took notice of it, but lately it had been getting him down. Inside, he was surprised to see Blair sitting on the couch, reading from a thick book. It was the last weekend before the 'official' training started, and Jim had been sure that Blair would be out somewhere, having a little fun. Maybe he was going later, Jim speculated, noticing that Blair was in his sock feet with his shirt open, as if he had stopped in the middle of getting dressed to go out, or undressed after getting in. 

"Chief." 

"Jim." 

Jim had a sudden taste for a beer, but, when he got to the refrigerator, he pulled out a bottle of water instead. He started for the living room to do a little channel surfing, but the sight of Blair, still on the couch, evidently deeply into his text, caught him up short. Unsure, Jim stood there for a minute, then deciding not to disturb Blair, he turned to go upstairs, only to be stopped by the sound of a book slamming shut. 

He looked back in Blair's direction and Blair was on his feet, face set in a grim expression, staring at him. Before he could ask what was wrong, Blair had moved and was in his face. 

"So, tell me, is it that you're having second thoughts about me joining the force, or is it that you don't like the idea of having a gay partner?" 

Honestly puzzled, Jim asked the first thing that came to mind. "What?" 

"You've been treating me like I have the plague for weeks now." 

"What are you talking about? I offered to help you with any of the department requirements." 

"Right, so that leaves me and Trent, then, doesn't it?" 

"Look, I haven't given you any reason to think that I have a problem with you going out with Trent...or any other guy. If anything, I've given you plenty of space, so that you wouldn't think I was in your face about it." 

"Well, who asked you to do that?" Blair's voice rose in volume as he continued. "You've never felt you had to do that when I've been dating women, and I've never complained. Why wouldn't I still want to spend time with you?" 

" _Jesus_ , Sandburg, will you give me a _break_ , here? I leave you to...date in peace, and I get _shit_ about it. If I had been always around, you could say I was trying to get in the way because you were going out with a man. What _is_ it with you? Do you _want_ me to be pissed about this?" 

Jim was yelling, and the sound of it scared him. Too many times, his anger had pushed them to places he didn't want to go, and he had been trying, promising himself, vowing silently to Blair, that it wouldn't happen again. Strains of his words seemed to resound around them and he turned away, fist tightly gripping the sweating bottle of water as he went to the balcony doors to stare out into the storm. For a minute, there was silence, then there was a harsh chuckle from behind him and a muttered curse. 

"Um...yeah, Jim, I think I did," Blair said quietly. 

Jim turned slowly around. "What?" 

Blair swallowed; Jim could hear it, and watched as Blair's Adam's apple bobbed as a result. 

"I think that I did want you to get mad." 

Pressing closer, face hard, Jim spoke in a steely voice. "Well, excuse me for saying so, Chief, but, fuck you. I know that I haven't always made it clear that I want you to have a place here...and I don't just mean _here_ in this place...and I've been trying to get it right." He stopped, teeth grinding loudly together for a second. "But, if you're looking for a way out, don't try to make me into some homophobic jerk, just so that you can put the blame on me." 

"Jim, that's not it..." 

"Then, what the hell is it?" 

But Blair didn't say, or couldn't say, and Jim forced himself to walk away, afraid of what his own words might be. 

* * *

On his bed, Jim concentrated on breathing--inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly--ignoring the relentless rhythm of the rain, too aware of the sound of Blair downstairs taking a shower, the water splattering off of skin and tile overpowering the beat of the drops hitting the roof overhead. For the most part, he had learned long ago to filter out those everyday, sometimes private, parts of Blair's living, but he couldn't tear himself away from the softly rough scraping as Blair dried his body, or the quick bursts of aroma as the water was wrung from freshly shampooed hair. He tracked Blair's movement from bathroom to bedroom, listened in as Blair got dressed, felt his stomach clench when a certain scent wafted up to him as the door to Blair's bedroom opened. 

Date with Trent, Jim thought, his last before taking that next step to becoming a cop. 

The footsteps surprised him, and then Blair was calling his name. It crossed his mind to pretend that he was sleeping, because he felt that he desperately needed some time. He realized that even though he had been distancing himself from Blair's new dating experience, he hadn't made any decisions about his own, and he didn't think that a little more time was too much to ask. 

"Jim... Can I just talk to you for a minute?" 

Blair appeared by his bedside wearing a wrinkled tee and baggy sweats. And Jim realized that pretending to be asleep was out, because his eyes were wide open, and Blair was watching him staring. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I don't want out..." There was a pause, and Jim could hear Blair's breathing, louder than normal, and more ragged. "I...I want... _in_." 

Jim just lay there, letting that sink in. 

"I think I was trying to push you without _pushing_ you, and I'm sorry, but I didn't.... I mean, going out with Trent wasn't originally _about_ that, but it started _becoming_ that." 

It seemed most important to Jim that Blair hadn't been getting ready for a date, the rest wasn't quite locking into place. "Chief," he said in a low voice, "what the hell are you talking about?" 

"I liked Trent. He was fun, and smart, and I was attracted to him. But I think I was _counting_ on you getting into my face about it." 

Jim sat up, feeling slightly sick. "Why? We've had so much friction, and I thought we both wanted to put it behind us. So, why would you want to drop a 'Hey Jim, I'm gay' thing on me, and wait to see if I'd explode?" 

"I didn't... I mean, I didn't want you to be upset about me going out with guys, but I realized after I'd been seeing Trent for a while that it wasn't what I wanted. I liked Trent and I _was_ interested in him, but I haven't gone out with any other guys since I've met you because I didn't _want_ to go out with any... _except_ you. And I kept waiting for you to have some sort of _reaction_ so that _I_ could react and tell you what I hadn't been sure I should say, that I wanted _you_ to be interested in _me_ that way. I may have been making some broad leaps, but I've spent a _lot_ of time watching you, and I didn't think it was too much of a stretch, really, that you might like guys, that you might like _me_ , that me being out there with someone else might bother you.... But, I didn't want to push you to make me move out, but to get me to _stay_. Shit, I'm babbling...." 

Chest tight, mind swirling, Jim struggled to keep up with what Blair was telling him. "So you went out with some guy just to bother me?" 

"No, I went out with him because I _liked_ him, but I wanted you to be bothered, because I love _you_ , and that makes no sense, does it?" 

"Chief, I..." 

"There have been so many changes in my life lately, and then one change that I wanted to make, but _couldn't_..." 

"It worked." 

"What?" 

"I _was_ bothered. That you were seeing some guy...some guy that wasn't me, I mean. But, it didn't look at all as if you were interested in me, and we've been on such shaky ground..." 

"But, we're still here, _I'm_ still here, just not the way I'd like to be..." 

Blair sat down on the bed next to Jim, and the scent, that 'special occasion' scent, invaded Jim's head, and he let himself enjoy it and what it seemed to mean. 

"You smell..." 

"I smell?" 

"You smell good. I know that scent. You wear it when..." Jim's voice trailed off to a hush. "I've had fantasies..." 

"Jim, I'm right here. If you want it...if you want me." 

"I..." 

Jim had started to say that he wanted to kiss Blair, but Blair simply reached over, bringing their faces close together, placing a quick, licking kiss at the corner of Jim's mouth, and then proceeded with a slow and easy attack of lips and tongues, shifting so that he was lying on top of Jim, and they were kissing as if their lives depended on it. Kissing as a full-contact sport, with hands and hips and hard-ons moving and jerking and bumping, until Jim's foremost thought was getting them naked, though Blair seemed to have skipped thinking about it and jumped straight to doing it. 

When his cock was exposed, and Blair's hand was wrapped around it, pulling on it, Jim broke the kiss, his breath rushing inward, squeezing his eyes shut at the pleasure of it. "Trying to have sex with me, Sandburg, here of all places? And before we even _have_ a first date?" The words were spat out in between the strokes Blair gave his cock. 

With a nip at Jim's collarbone, Blair replied, "Jim, I hate to break it to you, but this is probably like our _400th_ date. So, actually, we're _way_ behind." 

Again, Blair bit Jim gently, but a _lot_ lower, and with a moan, Jim managed to say, "I'll buy that." 

It didn't take long until they were both sweaty, tangled up in ways they'd only dreamed about, the rush of orgasm taking Jim almost by surprise. 

Afterwards, they lay together, heartrates slowing, while Jim waited for Blair to say that they should talk. He wasn't sure that he _wanted_ to talk about it, or what he should say about things. It just felt so good to be there, naked in Blair's arms, he was almost afraid to even _think_ about it, for fear that he might think it out of existence. But Blair didn't speak, instead tracing soothing patterns on Jim's skin with his fingertips, and, as Jim relaxed, he thought that maybe, in the morning, he'd tell Blair that he loved him, too, and that he'd do whatever he could to make him feel at home in their bed, in their job, and in their life. 

When Blair finally drifted off, Jim was content to lie there, listening, and the sound of the storm outside, coupled with the occasional snore from Blair, was music to his ears. 

THE END 


End file.
